Flight WS683 from Toronto to Calgary (Part 2)

We’re almost half way through the flight and so far I have completed two rounds of “Dis Widdle Piggie”, made some progress on the book project, and also managed to successfully avoid being chopped up by our stewardess Carolyn.  I’m all about the small victories.  Next up on my inflight Canadiana album playlist is the ‘50 Odd Dollars‘  album by Fred Eaglesmith.

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I’ve come to recognized local boy Eaglesmith as one of the most brilliant folk-rock songwriters of the ’90s and the country-rock crunch of ‘50 Odd Dollars‘  does not disappoint.  His musical influences are certainly eclectic–a bit of voodoo blues here, some T-Bone Burnett there, not to mention traces of rockabilly, bluegrass, and even the odd nod to Tom Waits.  Eaglesmith effortlessly blends all these influences into a seamless, powerful whole that sounds exactly like the sort of music you dream of hearing in some crowded, hot, beery bar near closing time…

Which I have…

Many times.

Anyway, this 1999 album offers more of Eaglesmith’s trademark trailer-trash tales of old dogs (‘Blue Tick Hound‘), drunken nights (‘Gettin’ to Me‘), big ass cars (‘Mighty big Car‘) and random farm parts ( ‘Alternator‘, ‘Ten Ton Chain‘); ‘Bullets‘ represents the albums token murder ballad.  Eaglesmith’s songs make him seem more from the Southern states, rather than here in Ontario.  I do love this unique imagery and themes however, as much of it I witness on my long bike rides through the back roads of Niagara and Haldimand counties so despite our currently heading out west to the Rockies Mountain and Pacific Coast seascapes, it’s a fond reminisce of back home.

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About crazytigerrabbitman

I am a fat guy and always will be in the same way they say that “once an alcoholic; always an alcoholic”. Eventually I got upset about my poor health and ballooning body frame so I decided to change things for the better. Some people sign up for Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, or whatever fad diet program it is that happens to be occupying the majority of air time on the boob tube. Other people prefer to run out and purchase the latest, fold away, piece of shit being hawked by some celebrity has-been. Me? I decided to take up triathlon. I had abused my body over the years with bacon cheeseburgers, pints of beer and double-dipped donuts, and the time had now come to abuse my body with physical exertion, perseverance and hard work instead; penitence in it's purest form. The time had come to kick my ass. I am Terry Nash and I am the “fat and the furious”.
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